I've Only Lived 14 of Them
by Sarra Salmalin
Summary: Sarralyn Salmalin, Daine and Numair's daughter has a secret about her past, and it changes how she lives her life. One-shot, maybe a little bit more.


Sarralyn Salmalin slowly eased her tired muscles onto the chair in  
front of her large looking-glass. Staring at herself in the  
reflection, not many would know something was amiss. Her dark curls  
shined, and didn't give the appearance of a sickly girl. Her bright  
turquoise eyes seemed to dance in the light. Her nose, although  
slightly larger than most, suited her face well. Sarra's dark skin  
glowed, or was it the candlelight that made it look like that?

But really, underneath the façade, a whole other girl lived, ate, and  
slept. She had a past, one that very few knew about. She was  
definately her parent's child; both the Gift and wild magic coursed  
through her veins. However, she hadn't always been Daine and Numair's  
child. At least not when she was kidnapped at age 3. She still bore  
reminders of her frightful experience that lasted a year.

Sarralyn never bathed in the baths with the other women, she was  
afraid they might see her imperfections. Every day, Sarra thanked the  
gods for rouge, for that was the substance that seemed to allow her to  
continue er everyday life as if she had not lost a year of her 15 years.

She dunked a piece of cloth in a water-bowl, and squeezed out the  
excess of water on the cloth. Sarra wiped off her wrists, and also  
wiped off the rouge covering them. There they were. The skeleton in  
the girl-mage's closet. The very thing that made her blood boil and  
her heart scream. The chains that she had been bound in for a year had  
left their mark. The scars were a painful reminder of how Sarra would  
never be normal.

Looking back, Sarra wondered how things might have been different if  
those chains had not been magicked, for the harder she had struggled,  
the more they had cut into her tender skin. But the scars on her  
wrists were not the only scars she had. As Sarra ran the cool cloth  
along her neck, red marks appeared there also. They had kept her in a  
collar, like a dog. Sarra knew she could shape-change, but she had  
been forbidden to by her grandmother. That year was the worst of  
Sarralyn's life. If only she could have used the power she had to free  
her from that awful place.

But the scars weren't the only impact her year as a slave had on her  
life. Now, Sarra had nearly no patience of any kind. She would snap at  
servants to bring her things, and when they returned she would  
apologize profoundly for her brash behavior. Sarra's dreams were  
tormented with visions of her past, also. She would think of that room  
filled with children from all walks of life, just waiting. Waiting to  
be adopted, become a slave, or be killed. Most of them got the latter  
treatment. Sarralyn was required to serve finger-fruits to delegates  
from all around. It was astonishing to see foriegn diplomats enjoying  
watching a 3 year old serving them. It was cruel child-abuse.

Sarralyn still remembers the day her Da rescued her. She figured that  
after a year, Numair had given up hope of finding his only daughter.  
But was she his only one anymore? So much could have happened in a  
year. Sarra didn't recognize her Da when she first saw him. She was  
carrying a silver tray filled with grapes for the men to enjoy. The  
rags that served as Sarra's clothes were extremely bulky on her. As  
she climbed up the steps to where the tall Mage was sitting, she  
tripped over an excess of rags, and fell flat on the floor, the  
contents of the tray spilling everywhere. The slave master yelled  
words at her, and cracked his whip over her back, hard. Sarra bit her  
lip hard, to keep from crying out, as she truly looked at the man she  
was serving for the first time. Coal black hair, with bits of grey.  
Soft brown eyes. Long, long legs.

Sarralyn wondered if the man was going to hit her for spilling grapes  
on his robes, but when her turquoise eyes met his brown ones, he  
gasped in shock. The slavemaster seized Sarra by the arms and started  
to drag her away.  
"Stop!" Numair had commanded, his kind eyes now flashing with anger.  
He rose up from his chair, and swept to Sarra's bleeding side. The  
slavemaster was enraged. He was insulted that anyone should stop him  
from his 'business', and tried to pull Sarra away further. Numair  
scooped up the fragile 4 year-old and held her in his arms.

The slavemaster yelled horrid words at Numair, but Sarra barely heard  
them. She was too busy relishing in the warmth of her Da's body, his  
comforting smell of incence and spices. In fact, the last thing she  
truly remembered from that day was her Da whispering in her ear  
"Everything will be fine, Sarra. You're finally coming home."

Now, 11 years later, Sarralyn still bore the scars. It was possible  
for her to use magic to make them go away, but she felt as though that  
would be forsaking the gods, to permanently altering her appearance.

Numair had never forgiven himself for not being able to find her, and  
blamed himself every day. But Sarra knew he couldn't have. There were  
over 200 powerful mages that had put spells over the place so worried  
parents could not find their lost children.

As Sarralyn sat in her room, wiping off the last remnants of the  
rouge, she never noticed the door opening and closing softly. She only  
noticed anything different when she saw her father's face appear in  
the looking-glass behind her. Numair bent down and gave Sarra a kiss  
on the head. She turned around in her chair and threw her arms around  
him. There was an unspoken agreement between them. Sarra would always  
find her father for comforting, whenever she needed it. It was the  
only way Numair could make up for that year that was lost.

Although Sarralyn had been born over 15 years ago, her age was much  
different. If someone asked how old she was, she always replied "14."  
Numair asked one day why she always lied about her age. Sarra's simple  
reply was "I've been alive for 15 years, but I've only lived 14 of  
them."

**A/N: How was it? I originally intended this to be a one-shot, but I can make another chapter to go along with it to further explain how Sarra got there. R&R, please!**


End file.
